


What's been broken - is never really lost

by KinugoshiDofu



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: I kind of rewrote book three, M/M, Mpreg, Original Male Character - Freeform, Orion Black - Freeform, Post Mpreg, past malepregnancy, yup yup that's me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-08-31 10:37:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8575048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KinugoshiDofu/pseuds/KinugoshiDofu
Summary: Sirius is asleep when the first letter comes. He hasn’t slept in days—replaying what has happened over and over again—because here, the ground is cold and there’s no body next to his. There’s no warmth and even being Padfoot isn’t enough to help him through the icy night. Night... he doesn’t even know what distinguishes Night from Day anymore—there is no sun here, each hour as dark as the next, empty like the previous.Sirius is alone and cold and scared, forgotten and left to rot in his cell - or so he thought. He is asleep when the first letter comes - though alone and cold and scared, forgotten he is not.





	1. Letters

**Author's Note:**

> I started writting this ageeeees ago! It has two parts, but I may decide to upload the second part in pieces, as I'm still writing it right now and it's already rather long. I like the idea of Sirius and Remus having a happy ending together, and to be honest I find the lack of LGBTQ characters in Harry Potter disheartening, seeing how she had at least two opportunities to showcase some healthy same-sex relationships (Dean and Seamus which I thought was going to be canon for sure until Dean shacked up with Ginny, and Sirius and Remus who I was rooting for) and now with the Cursed Child coming out and Albus and Scorpius ALSO NOT ENDING UP TOGETHER I just feel very frustrated and need to give these guys a happy ending I just... cannot not have them be happy together. Oh yeah, so, spoiler allert I guess?
> 
> Also for mysterious reasons I often refer to Walburga Black as Cygnus Black! So she is Cygnus here (even though it's a man's name blablabla)
> 
> Also I might have messed up the ages because I'm bad at math! Yup that's life.

_Letters_

 

Sirius is asleep when the first letter comes. He hasn’t slept in days—replaying what has happened over and over again—because here, the ground is cold and there’s no body next to his. There’s no warmth and even being Padfoot isn’t enough to help him through the icy night. Night... he doesn’t even know what distinguishes Night from Day anymore—there is no sun here, each hour as dark as the next, empty like the previous.

He is surprised when he’s awakened brutally by an auror knocking against the bars of his cell—prisoners at his block don’t get visitors. They don’t get letters either. They’re outcasts, left to rot. Who would possibly write him? (He has a hope, but won’t succumb, because he knows he’s ruined the one person that really matters.)

At first he wants to be angry—the auror just stands there, and he thinks he’s being messed with—until the man sneers, and throws him the envelope. There’s no name, but when the smell of the parchment reaches his nostrils, he knows who it’s from—and instead of smiling, he cries because he misses him so much it hurts in his chest.

_(This one is Insanity, because I am still here)_

_I tried sleeping with your pillow yesterday—head down, drowning in your scent—because it hasn’t even been a week and I already miss everything about you._

_Maybe it’s not you, but it’s at least the idea of you. The idea of not belonging to me but to someone else, and waking up with not my own but someone else’s smell. Most of all, hickeys and scratches and bites to set me straight, tell me where I belong—and now where do I belong, if not with you?_

_I tried sleeping on your pillow and I miserably failed—as if that too, now, is something I cannot have._

_Maybe it’s just the faiths trying to tell me you’ve messed up—you’re not right. I know you’re not but somehow it’s… have I done you wrong?_

_Because I loved you, so very much. And I cared for you when you needed me to—and I wanted you so bad, and with every passing second I loved you more, so much I thought my heart would swell and explode because you made me feel so good. I still don’t get how you just… felt like you needed to go and take James and Lily and Peter with you because I wanted you and I loved you and I know we sometimes fought but I never stopped caring and how is it fair that you could just leave?_

_I will never forgive you._

_How did I do you wrong?_

_I love you still,_

_Remus_

He doesn’t know what to do, it hurts so much, so much _somuchsomuchsomuch_ , he rolls himself into a ball, hugs the letter to his chest and prays— _prayspraysprays_ —to whoever will listen that Remus does not, does never, stop loving him. That he will get his chance to escape, that he will find a way to tell Remus that he was not it— _fightformeRemus_ —he wants to fight now, but realises it’s too late.

He blames himself for forgetting Remus was worth fighting for.

It hurts too much.

The second letter comes much, much later. It has almost been half a year, but Sirius doesn’t know that—time blends together here, after a while. It is the Minister this time. Sirius is sure now, that Dumbledore is the one making sure the letters get through, yet he knows it will be Remus’ handwriting—Remus’ scent tainted on the paper, and if he tries hard enough, brushes his lips over the parchment, he can imagine what Remus used to taste like.

It is the only thing that keeps him sane.

_(This is Unplaced – why now?)_

_I hate you for leaving this behind. I’ve wanted this ever since you told me that our baby would be the most beautiful baby by far. I hate you for making me want it—I hate you because we couldn’t have it when you were still here, and right on our verge of happiness you had to screw it all over._

_I wanted to tell you but then you killed Peter and James and Lily and I didn’t want it anymore._

_I tried to ignore that it was there. My mother told me I should get rid of it—she said I shouldn’t keep it because it was yours._

_Somehow she doesn’t understand that going from loving you to not loving you is not just a button I can push. It’s not just a mechanism to turn. I can’t just stop._

_This is one of the things I’ve always seen myself doing—having a family, getting old and buying a house. You took that dream from me. You ruined it beyond repair, but this, this is something I can keep. This is somehow a mixed blessing because everyone is telling me I have to quit you—this is my way out. I cannot have you, but live with you every day. I can hate you but love you, because of him. I can see you in his eyes, and when he grows up and does something incredibly stupid, or use puppy dog eyes to win me over, I will think of you._

_I love him for being you and I combined and I know you don’t care but it’s what I hold on to when the darkness closes in on me. The idea of you, not a breath away._

_I want you so bad it hurts._

_I hate you._

_At first, I seriously debated whether or not I should keep it. I wasn’t sure I should have this with you, either way. Did I still deserve this gift you’d left me?_

_I was afraid that I wouldn’t love him because of you. I was afraid you’d filled me with so much hate the mere sight of him would repulse me._

_You’ve left me empty, and he’s what I need to be whole again._

_I wasn’t sure I even wanted him._

_When I fell down a flight of stairs and was told I may lose him—that was one hell of a button to be pushed. I cried for hours, the insecurity drove me mad because suddenly I realized I wanted him so damn bad, but I was afraid to have him—I cried for hours and hours, because I wanted him, I wanted him, I never not wanted him and I wanted him and…—I was afraid that when he grew up and looked just like you, he would leave me like you did. He would hurt me like you did._

_He would be wrong like you are._

_But then I realized that I did not make you into what you are Sirius. I did not make you into a murderer. I don’t know how you think of me, how you feel for me—have you ever felt for me?_

_I know that a couple of months is not enough to make me stop loving you, and I’m a fool for admitting it, but there you have it. I hope this gives you a strange satisfaction, when you lie there by yourself in your cold cell. You’ve played me well Sirius Black, you have me good._

_I hope you know that even though I love you, even now, I will see to it that every single one of your Death Eater friends get to live their life beside you, in between four black walls and a dark ceiling._

_I will never forgive you._

_Why did you do me wrong?_

_Though I love you still,_

_Remus_

He begs the Minister to give him a piece of parchment, anything—it doesn’t have to be big, just big enough for seven little words, ‘ _I love you, send me a picture_ ’—but the man is not in a good mood and gives a small scrap of paper to the cell next door. Sirius wants to say something, but he manages to resist—it wouldn’t make a difference, he thinks, and so he crawls back into his corner.  He thinks he doesn’t want to cry, but it’s hard, and hey, what else can he do?

There is no word for a couple of years—but again, Sirius does not know this. The time blurs, and for him it feels like one endless night, and when he sees the small slip of yellowish paper in the auror’s pocket, he hopes with all his heart it will be his.

_(Love—because it runs deep)_

_He woke up crying yesterday, and asked my why grandma hates him so much. He tells me she says that his father is bad and evil and vermin—he tells me people look at him and wish he won’t grow up to be like his father, because nothing good ever came from him. It happens often, you know. There aren’t many people that know he’s yours, but those that do, loathe him for it—like I feared I would, but how could I?_

_I tell him not to listen to what they say. I tell him you’re a good man._

_I wonder if I’m lying._

_I wonder if he knows I’m unsure._

_Now that he notices that we miss something in our family, he starts to wonder what he’s ever done wrong. He thinks he doesn’t deserve you—and I don’t know how to explain. I love you. I cannot teach him to hate you. You know, the thought of isolating him struck me once—really briefly too, and I’ve decided to move._

_Sirius, I love our house. But our house is our house, and all these years it has been taunting me, reminding me of everything that isn’t there anymore. I wish this is me moving on, but it’s not, because I’m weak. You made me weak—I want to tell you I’ve forgotten but I haven’t. I love you still, so unbearably much. I wish it’d go away._

_We’re by the countryside now, and it’s nice here. Sometimes I pretend that when you come back to me, you’ll like it here—gloat all you want for this, because I’ll say it again: I want you back. I want you here and warm and safe. And I don’t care right now, that you’ve tossed out the letter by now, because I love you. I just... don’t want to believe that I never made you feel._

_I took your pillow with me. It doesn’t smell of you. You haven’t left an imprint. But there’s a small spot of blood from when you hit your head against the chandelier and I remember that and somehow, a small part of you is close._

_Sometimes he sleeps in my bed, because he’s fragile and small and scared. He’s brave too, but not when we’re at home—when he has to face the world, he’s the bravest of them all, and he kicks and bites and fights—but when he’s with me and he knows he doesn’t have to pretend he’s scared and needy. He always brings his own pillow, as if he knows you’re here. He sleeps where his place would be, if you were there too—always in the middle, never on your side of the bed._

_Do you remember when you used to have a side Sirius? When your side was mine and you never cared and neither did I because I knew that wherever I fell asleep, it would not matter because I would wake up in your arms? I do. And I hate that I do, because it makes me miss it more and more. I hate you for making me love you. You made me weak. Did I do you wrong?_

_It happens more often than not that he crawls into the bed—I think he doesn’t want to bother me, so he cries at night, and when he’s done he comes here, not a noise, but holds my hand. It’s strange... I told him time and time again that he will never be a burden to me, yet sometimes he is so ashamed of being sad._

_I hate that you make him cry, just by not being here._

_He asks me where you are—why is father not here?—he says, because you’re ‘father’ and no, I’m not ‘mother’ because you may laugh at me all you want I am not your woman, I am no man’s hole and this is one way you cannot degrade me. He calls me ‘dad’ because I am familiar to him, when he whimpers in his sleep and begs for ‘Remy’ I hate it because it reminds me so much of you. But then again, after hearing that, I have to help either way—it’s too sweet. When he asks me where you are, I never know what to say._

_I say: “wherever he is, he’s not here,” and when he says it hurts, I say: “that is indeed the painful part,” and hug him tight._

_I love him because he can miss you without knowing you._

_His eyes are just like yours, and I don’t even want to go into that, because it’s just too real. He’s beautiful like you used to be Sirius—and I’m glad, because at least that is something you did right. He’s perfect._

_I know I shouldn’t, but I fucked this up anyway; thank you Sirius. He is all I could have ever hoped for. Thank you for letting me have him._

_Love you, always,_

_Remus_

He smiles, he thinks—he’s not sure if it’s a smile or a tear or a grimace—because Remus seems happy, in a way. He thinks maybe Remus means it, maybe this is the one thing he did right, maybe he loves him, _always_.

He regrets not fighting for him when he still had a chance. He misses it all so much, just the mere feel of him under his fingertips, and he regrets having to miss the beautiful sight Remus surely made while he was carrying their baby. He misses his lips and cold toes pressed into his calves and he misses his hands in his own and all those little things, which make Remus Remus. He misses the dots of amber in his eyes and the one freckle he has on his thigh.

He misses it all so damn much, but when he presses the letters to his chest he can imagine what it would be like if Remus was here and for this one moment, _onemomentonesecondthengone_ , he is truly and uprightly happy. For a _singleminismallsecond_ the endless night is set ablaze and his senses drown with everything _Remus_ and he falls asleep happy and wakes up crying but it’s okay, because the second was there and he hangs on to it.

After all this time, Remus still loves him, and that gives him hope. And if he cannot have Remus’ love, he still has his letters and that is what gets him through.

When the next one comes, Sirius has been waiting, and though it has been years, it feels like only a minute, a day maybe, a month. He sniffs the parchment dearly, ignoring the strange look the Auror gives him, enjoying the way his scent tingles his nose. He tears open the envelope, cannot wait to find out how his love—and their beautiful, beautiful baby—is doing. For the first time in such a long time he allows himself to look forward to it.

_(Now, is Infinity, merely because I don’t think I’ll ever let go)_

_I ran into your mother today. I think I almost gave her a heart-attack, really. She still looks deceivingly young, to be rather old. But I suppose I’m running slightly ahead of myself—let me explain._

_We went to one of those rusty old town-square markets you hate so much and she was there. I enjoy it, you know, it reminds me of how we knew everyone in our street by their first name and how sometimes, if I persuaded you and pampered you afterwards you would come with me and it would be all sentimental and we’d smell the lemons before buying them and end up tangled in one scarf and you’d pretend you had no clue how that happened._

_Well, apparently your mother likes them too, and we very rarely go there, these days. It’s a bit of a hassle, between work and school and trips to the zoo, sleeping in on Sundays, it just hasn’t happened much. The point is that he was doing this thing where he begs for a soda and then when I try getting it out of my briefcase he gets all excited, runs circles like a fool and eventually bumps into someone. I’ve always been pretty much okay with it, because it’s what kids do and hey, my kid’s father is a mass-murderer sentenced to life in Azkaban, I know shame and disapproval, and I don’t give a damn. So most of the times it’s a bit embarrassing but it always turns out okay, but I should’ve known that would be quite different when he ran into Lucretia Black._

_Honestly, I should’ve run when I saw her, because she’s your mother’s best friend—remember them, those best friends of yours? Damn fools for trusting you, but they did, so gloat all you want—and where she is, your mother is, and that’s not a good thing. They’re sister-in-laws and cousins, which is double trouble for me._

_Cygnus backs away in fright, and yes, it’s because he likes to wear his hair long like you did, and I know perhaps I should’ve stopped him, but I can’t do it, because it’s endearing how much he looks like you when he does the thing where he pushes his hair behind his ear. What I mean to say is, that although I do not like your mother, she is not stupid. She knows her son’s son when she sees him, because there is no mistaking that he’s you when you were young and it hurts but it’s a fact._

_Lucretia calls him a handsome boy and tousles his hair—I bet if she’d known right there that he was mine, she wouldn’t have—and it isn’t until she sees me standing not a feet away that she realises the boy bumping into her is her nephew’s son and I can see her face drop._

_He’s polite and apologises, then takes my hand to drag me to the toy-stand—soda forgotten—but your mother is a bitch and stops us. Oh I hate her. I will have you know that I hate her with a passion that may or may not burn deeper than my love for you, and that I’m so very glad I never see her these days. It’s a good thing, and although he sometimes asks about his other set of grandparents—who are mysteriously missing, like his father—I don’t care. And when my mum says his other grandparents are almost as bad as his dad we leave, but not without letting him know that yes, the lack of those particular grandparents should be taken as a blessing. My mother still doesn’t understand there’s just no getting over you._

_Cygnus pretends to be pleasant, tells me it’s been a while, and her rotten nature is once more revealed, proven by the fact that she frightens him. He presses his face into my hip and holds my hand tighter._

_I wonder if, subconsciously, he knows._

_I wonder if that’s what frightens him._

_Cygnus is a woman of many faces, and she soon gives up on sweet and innocent, instead she asks me, straight-out: “were you ever planning on informing me that treacherous son of mine gave me a grandson?”_

_I think you should know this is my personal victory. This is one of the moments that I am proud of who I am, because you always insisted on fighting my fights for me, but now I can cope very well on my own, and I am proud of that. If not my pride, what do I still have, now, that is my own?_

_“You have no sons left Cygnus,” I say, because I want to break her like you broke me—is that cruel? “I love Sirius but his son only belongs to me—not you.”_

_Laugh your ass off, because I told her I love you and it hurts even more now, even though then, it was okay._

_This time, when he asks: “Daddy, can we go now?” and we turn to leave she doesn’t stop us, and I’m so damn happy._

_You make me fall apart._

_I don’t even remember why I liked you to begin with—but for some extremely idiotic reason I do, and I can’t stop, can’t ever seem to stop because even when I’m facing her I still love you, even when I’m reminded of your mistakes and your horrible, horrible misdeed, I still love you._

_I just can’t seem to stop Sirius._

_I love you,_

_Remus_

It’s really fucking unfair that his mother was there. He knows maybe he should be worrying, knowing fully well what lengths his mother would go to. But then there is that unsettling sort of pride he feels for Remus. He knows very well how unbearable his mother is, how hard it must have been for Remus, to see her again after all those years, so unexpected. But he is glad too, to know that Remus copes. He feels terrible, but that doesn’t matter, as long as Remus doesn’t feel terrible—he wants to take Remus in his arms and kiss the sorrow away, but he knows that is impossible now, and just holds on to the hope that one day, he will get his opportunity, to run, to hide, to explain and then kiss him until he is out of breath, to let him know that Sirius, is where he belongs.

It is what keeps him from crying when darkness closes in.

The next one comes a mere couple of months later, and Sirius sits with it for a very long time, just _happy_ to have it there with him, regardless of the time spent apart.

_(This is Perception, because you’re not here)_

_It’s damn ridiculous how I’m still not over you. Really, because sure, you’re fabulous and all that jazz—but this is a little over top, wouldn’t you agree?_

_I found your silver ear-ring today and cried._

_Fucking pathetic._

_Because how am I supposed to love what’s not here? You tell me that, because every little detail of something that used to be and is no longer, seems to be tainted on every memory, drowned in every fabric and dusted over every surface. It’s as if you simply won’t let go, and how is it, that you have this hold on me?_

_I refuse to believe that this—this big, undeniable something—was always unreciprocated. It cannot be this big by itself Sirius, if this is just mine, it could not have survived all this time._

_If you were not mine, I would have let go by now._

_Maybe this is just a mistake—a misguided attempt at something none-existent. Perhaps you were never really there, and then if you weren’t, how could you have been mine? I wish I could see you and talk to you and hear you say it—just say it, I don’t want anything else—admit it to my face, tell me, ‘it was a lie.’ Tell me it was your wrong, and not mine. Tell me it was a grand scheme of things, and I was merely one of the pieces meant to be moved—and move me you did—tell me I’ve been played. Tell me, tell me, tell me._

_Because if I don’t know how I feel, than what do I know?_

_And if I ever felt what you felt—hurt when you were—than how can this be untrue?_

_Most of all, I really want you to tell me you love me._

_Lie to me all over again._

_(He thought the ring goes around the finger. It’s been stuck on his pinkie ever since. I tried bribing him with my engagement ring, but it just won’t come off. He says he’s too fat, but I suppose, maybe, it was just meant to be his.)_

_Sometimes, I wear your boxer shorts. It’s really stupid, honestly. But I can just lie in bed and pretend that it is one of those mornings where you went to get tea and I’m sore from extreme naked-body-to-naked-body action and it has nothing to do with a moon that was full at all. And I’ll pretend yours were closer and the tenseness is pure bliss instead of agony, and for a moment you’re there and it’s okay._

_Just that, you know, it’s not._

_Are you here Sirius? Because I am._

_(He knows when they’re yours. For some stupid, smartass reason, he can just feel when I’m wearing undergarments that aren’t my own. All he does is say that you must have been pretty broad, if they slide off my hips like that, but really, I always liked how you were so burly.)_

_I am here, and you are there and I suppose that yes, that is the painful part._

_But I love you with every second that passes and what should I say? I forgive you? Because I cannot. Even if this is a mistake you did not make—was I not worth fighting for? I think I would have fought, perhaps, had I been in your place._

_I am actually very sure of that—because even now, I still love you. And it says it all._

_Love,_

_Remus_

Sirius cries when he reads the words of promised bravery and he is reminded of the promise they once made to each other—never to let go. And how could he have broken that? He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he knows he was holding the letter close to his heart, hoping that if he just squeezes hard enough, it will not be the letter, but Remus. And if he just pretends that love is enough, maybe, just maybe, he’ll get through.

He wants to tell Remus he is sorry. He wants to hold him and kiss him. He wants to see their son and stroke his hair.

He wants Remus to give him the one thing he can’t: forgiveness. Because he himself, cannot excuse the mistakes he made, and it is breaking him on the inside, more than the Dementors ever could. To know he has hurt Remus so... it cuts into his skin like prickles of glass and he wants to make it okay but he can’t.

When the next one arrives, it is the minister who personally brings it to his cell. It has once more been years, and though Sirius hasn’t felt it—everything is just loose of time here, even this—he can tell by the way the minister has changed.

The minister watches him open the letter without a word, and Sirius thinks that perhaps he is just curious to see who would write a letter to a murderer. He watches Sirius read it, but Sirius does not notice, because as soon as he reads the first line, he is _home_ again, and Azkaban is but a dream.

_(Trying, because I always seem to fail)_

_I try not to write too often. I pretend it’s because Dumbledore has trouble getting these through._

_I’m trying to put up a front and I’m failing. Have you noticed?_

_I hate how weak I am. I wished I would’ve gotten over you by now._

_Does the shiver in my writing betray my lies?_

_I’ve tried keeping it at intervals, you know? Keep a nice couple of years between each letter. It’s just that I’m no good with it, because I want to write a letter for each day that I’ve missed you, even if I shouldn’t, even if I can’t._

_I know I can’t. It’s just mere logic. You’re no longer in my life, and it wouldn’t do to hang onto something that is no longer there. It’s like grasping thin air. It can’t be done._

_The fact that these past few months—maybe these last few years—the urge to write has only become stronger, does not comfort me. It frightens me. I thought that in time, it would become easier to let go, until eventually it was just a dull ache. Instead it flairs stronger and brighter—absence does make the heart grow fonder, and if I ever needed a reminder of that, this is it. This is all my love for you, multiplied by a thousand and I still can’t let go._

_We celebrated his ninth birthday yesterday. We do it every year, and every year, he learns more about you, and he absolutely loves it. Weeks before his birthday, he’ll beg me, “daddy, will you please tell me about father?” and sometimes he’ll offer to trade toys for information, but now that he’s older, it seems more important._

_Now, he never questions whether you are ‘good’ or ‘bad’, and I like how it’s trivial to him, even if I shouldn’t. When my mother tries telling him not to be like you, he says: “daddy loves father. There must be something good about him,” and I can’t help it if I agree with him—or if such a comment will cause me to have to hide in the bathroom for half an hour._

_We’ve both come to terms with the fact that ‘good’ or ‘bad’, I still love you. We don’t speak of forgiveness anymore, because I love you and I won’t stop. No common sense can force me to stop and I realise that just as well. You will always be with me, and now, I have no doubt that this was not fake. This cannot have been fake._

_Where I doubted before, I am sure now. He does that to me. I’ve decided that if I was just your pawn—your plaything, your toy—I would have never been given him. He is you and I combined, and he is so beautiful._

_So, this year, I showed him that you are always with us. Always, always, alwaysalwaysalways. You have that sort of ability Sirius, and I thank you for that. I love you for that too, I always have._

_(I will not stop.)_

_We sat outside, eating the left-over birthday cake, and I showed him where you are. Right up there, the Sirius-star, and that’s you, always watching over us._

_He asks me if that is the reason that I’ll say his eyes twinkle like yours—because you’re a star. I nod without thinking twice about it. He believes he has stars in his eyes. He believes you’re in his eyes, even if that’s not what I meant to say—it’s so endearing, I cannot bring myself to correct it. It’s also because he looks so much like you when he sticks out his bottom lip in a pout, I cannot bring myself to face it. The resemblance is striking, it needs no more push in the right direction._

_He’s yours._

_We celebrate your birthday as well, but it’s not what you think._

_We don’t celebrate because you can’t. We celebrate because we wish you could. He loves it, really, because he gets to eat birthday cake three times a year instead of two, and he absolutely adores it. You know how kids are with cake, he’s no different in that regard._

_I guess we celebrate because it’s better to celebrate, then to aimlessly cry and feel bad. I think that maybe, if he weren’t here, I’d spend my time drinking and watching old movies and generally feeling sorry for myself. He’s a life-saver like that, because even if I would want to drink my sorrows away, I couldn’t, because I need to take care of him. He is my responsibility, and I will not fail him._

_Not like I failed you._

_How did I do you wrong?_

_When he was born I called him Orion and it’s exactly what you think._

_I will never let you go,_

_Remus_

Sirius slips the parchment into his dirty robes, along with the rest and this time when he cries it are happy tears. The minister talks to him but he doesn’t hear it. He knows he has to get out. He has to get out and get to Remus. It feels as if he has no choice, nothing has been so vivid in his mind before. The thought that he doesn’t know where Remus is, shocks him and he wraps his arms around his knees and hugs them close.

Even if he would manage to escape, how would he ever find his loved one? How could he ever explain what has happened? He knows he cannot, and that prospect isn’t all too bright. The only hope he has is that one day he will get the chance to attempt to make up with Remus. When he falls asleep that night, he dreams of warm lips and cold feet and brown hair and an image of himself when he was younger, in the arms of his brunette and it’s not until he wakes up that he realises he had just dreamt of his son and his lover and it is frightening, _so_ frightening that he cries and does not stop. He wishes there was a way to make _this_ the dream and _that_ the reality, but there is only one...

He waits patiently, because time is nothing but loose strings and endless wire and it doesn’t matter because when the letter finally comes, it is the one thing that treads on the boundary between _dream_ and _reality_ and it’s what Sirius does it for.

_(This is Fear, because you’re just not going to be here)_

_I promised my mother I would stop writing but I can’t._

_He is leaving for Hogwarts tomorrow and I have never been so scared in my whole entire life. He has that uncanny ability to make me shiver and shake and even though I believe I have faith in him, I have no faith in any other._

_There are so many factors that need to be taken into account. I’ve allowed him to share my bed since he turned two—or more simply put, ever since he left the cradle—and it’s very safe to say that at a point like this, he is the only thing keeping me sane._

_What scares me most I think, is that he’s scared._

_He’s terrified, and I don’t want to put him through all this, but he has the strange feeling that he has to. He believes he owes this to me, to you, and if I could I would hit you so hard for it. I’m frightened someone will recognise him and use it against him. Severus Snape teaches there now, and I’m scared._

_I haven’t been this terrified since you left._

_Does that make me a bad person?_

_I don’t really think it does. I think it’s only normal for me to assume that Severus would hold a grudge, after all these years, no matter what his relation to your brother. I hold no illusions to the fact that he absolutely despises me, you, and will therefore, naturally despise our son._

_Of course, it could be Severus turns to absolutely adore him, seeing how he’s the son of You-know-who’s most trusted Death Eater._

_Oh but Merlin, you played your game well._

_I’m becoming more paranoid each day because everything just seems to be out to get me. He’s going soon, now, and my mother tries to convince me to convince him to beg the hat to be a Gryffindor, but I don’t want that. She tries to scare him with stories of what has happened to past Slytherins, but after all these years of being taught that Hogwarts houses are just colours, he just looks at her as if she’s insane._

_I’ve raised him well. I’ve raised him to be whoever he wants to be, to not be judgemental and to always keep an open mind._

_So for all I know I’ve raised a future Death Eater._

_I want to have faith in him, I really do, but I had faith in you, and look where that’s brought us._

_That’s right. Nowhere._

_I don’t want to go back to nowhere because I’ve been working to get somewhere, wherever, without you, and yes it is very fucking hard, but I think I’ve managed._

_Or maybe I’m a lying bastard and I’ve gotten nowhere so far. I wish I could say that when it comes to important things, I’ve made a difference, but I haven’t, really._

_I got a job at the ministry and I have to travel two hours to get there five days a week, because the floo powder’s gotten really expensive, and I get paid half the wage of everyone else even though I work more hours in my day and I sometimes come in at weekends and that’s that new Werewolf bill kicking in right there._

_The house is nice but small and cold in winter and it has some weak spots in the roof, but Orion doesn’t seem to mind at all. He insists on mowing the neighbour’s lawn so he can buy me gifts when I least expect it and I babysit the neighbours’ children to return the favour and even if sometimes it really feels like nothing is going right, he makes it okay._

_I don’t even mind the fact that I’m filthy poor because some people decided I have no right to make proper money like they do. At first it bugged me terribly, and maybe it still does, it’s still not right, but I just have to keep faith that things will change._

_The minister came to apologise to me personally. Apparently, I’m the only Werewolf working at the ministry, and he thought it terribly unjust that I worked so hard for the meagre wage I make. He said he’d do his best to turn this upside-down for me._

_I don’t believe him. Because people are scared you know, and they’re scared of what they don’t know as well and if you were here you would tell me not to be such a sissy boy and just take it, but... well, I understand Sirius, even if maybe I shouldn’t. People are really just scared because apparently James’ son caused some havoc at Hogwarts last year and Dumbledore told me there’s a fat chance that You-know-who will return. It’s also just the fact that it’s been quiet for so long... people are afraid it won’t be quiet much longer._

_I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this. It’s not really as if I expect you to care but I suppose I can always just pretend that you do._

_These days, everything is make-belief._

_I’m just nervous you know. Well, maybe you don’t know, but I’m nervous and now you do know. It’s really stupid, but I am nervous and it won’t go away._

_He never asks me who his father is. He just gathers all the pieces to the puzzle and I hope I won’t let slip that one piece he needs to solve this riddle that is you. I hope Snape doesn’t ruin it for him and I hope Dumbledore won’t hold a grudge and I hope McGonagall won’t distrust him for that one time we had sex on her desk and Binns, well, I think Binns will know and I just pray that he doesn’t get confused and calls him ‘Sirius’ instead of ‘Orion’ because damnit, he looks just like you._

_It seems like nine months of bloody carrying him just didn’t do. The only thing even close to resembling me is his jaw and sometimes his eyes go from silver to golden._

_I hope you can appreciate the irony, because I surely can’t._

_He knows it too, and I think that’s maybe even worse. Sometimes when I go to check on him, when he’s been in his room alone for too long, I find him crying in front of the mirror._

_And I wish I could say that I’ve taught him to hate you, and therefore the fact that he looks like you, but the only thing he mourns is the fact that nothing visibly ties him to me._

_And then I need to tell him that that is not true, because sometimes when he’s reading he does that thing with his nose I do—that thing I never even noticed until you pointed it out to me—and I need to tell him that either way, you are tied to me, and that makes him tied to me, and of course he is mine and then I will have to show him the scar he left and it’s just... painful._

_Sometimes he asks if he can see pictures, but I never let him. What if he accidentally sees the names scribbled on the back of the photographs and then maybe later he will learn about you or something and he’ll know?_

_It’s not that I’m... ashamed. I’ve come to terms with the fact that I was stupid enough to fall for you, but I don’t need him to know, because I’m afraid of what he’ll feel. He’s come to an age where he’s so easy to influence and I wish I could say with full certainty that my opinion is the only one he cares about, but I can’t because I don’t know._

_I know he doesn’t care about what my mother says, but that’s only through fault of me. I have always disregarded everything she says about you, and whenever she felt it necessary to mock you, I told him not to listen. He doesn’t hate you, and that too is my fault._

_I taught him to love you, and for some reason I can’t regret that decision._

_I think it’s because some really foolish part of me wants to believe that you didn’t do what people say you did. It’s just strange to comprehend, that you, of all people, would betray us. But if you didn’t, that means someone else did, and who is left? It’s only me and you now Sirius, and I know that it was not I..._

_That leads to the only logical conclusion that it was you._

_Sometimes I miss James. And when I miss James it seems wrong to miss you as well. I can’t get over the fact that you were such close friends, even if that has been my only reality over these past years._

_He was the younger brother you had lost. You treated him like you would have treated Regulus if only the boy let you._

_I really thought you loved him._

_But then again, I really thought you loved me, too, and that’s been proven to be a sour mistake._

_And well, now I’m just going in circles, but that’s just the way it’s been going for all this time. I like to pretend nothing’s wrong but then I remember that there are so many things wrong I could not begin to explain them all. But Merlin I’ve been beating myself up over all sorts of incidents and every time I wonder if you were a Death Eater all along or whether I drove you to it._

_Was it some kind of fight we had? Was that what pushed your buttons?_

_Was it because of the incident in 6 th grade? Because I forgave you for that you know. I had to beg you to stop ignoring me and accept the fact that I forgave you already and for fucks sake Black, you are one messed up bastard._

_I’ve never known anyone that will apologise, but then not accept the acceptance of the apology. Not until I met you, of course._

_I actually felt sorry for not forgiving you right away, and why do you make me feel like this? Every logical fibre in my being screeches that you did me wrong but then why does it feel like I was the one at fault?_

_Sometimes I think maybe sixth year was the turning point, but I’d be lying if I said I had noticed. Because I didn’t. You were a wanker and tried to get back at Snape for all the comments he cruelly made, you wanted to punish him for leaving your brother behind a weeping mess and you wanted him to tell you he loved Regulus and mean it, but you never thought about..._

_Me._

_I hate that you’re one of those people that wants to do good for everyone. I hate that you have an ego the size of the world and I hate that when you dressed up for dates I knew you didn’t dress up for me, but for all the other people that would see you._

_I let you take me for granted._

_Sometimes that’s really painful to admit. Sometimes when I’m sad and Orion notices it, he asks me what’s wrong. When I admit my fears to him, when I tell him, “father did me wrong,” he always shakes his head._

_He says that I only think you did me wrong. He says that I’m making every perfection into an imperfection because I want it to stop hurting. He says: “dad, it only seems that way because if it was bad all along, you won’t mind the fact that it’s broken.”_

_I’m outwitted by an eleven-year-old._

_Only your son could have that effect on me._

_I really want to hate you._

_But I love you._

_I guess maybe that’s the hard part. Not that you’re not here, because that could be fine. We could be fine without you. If I could not love you._

_But I can’t. I’ve tried, because everyone that knows keeps telling me, that I should have gotten over it by now, but it’s just not that easy. I’m sure you wouldn’t know, but you can’t just tell yourself to stop loving someone. It’s not a switch you can just pull._

_Emotions are not something you usually get to have control over. They’re not something you can keep in check—and I’m sure you know that, perhaps best of all, because you are no good at keeping sexual frustration contained, no matter how inappropriate the place—and you can’t just wish them off._

_Generally speaking, love isn’t something that just goes away. I knew this of course, but I hadn’t expected it to last eleven years._

_I think it’s that whole ‘Werewolves mate for life’ thing, and well, I guess that just means I’m royally screwed, huh? You could’ve fucked anyone, did it really have to be me? Did you have to screw me over? You could’ve chosen Peter, it would’ve gone just as well and please don’t try to give me that speech that he’s straight as a ruler because we both know you could turn the married homophobe with four children frilly as a party-dress in a matter of minutes. What am I saying, I meant seconds._

_Was it absolutely necessary to your grand scheming plot that it was me? Or was I just easy? Was it one of those oh-I’ve-had-you-once-it-will-be-convenient-to-have-you-twice things? Because that’s just it, that’s the one thing I can’t seem to figure out._

_Why did you try so hard?_

_I mean... you took me out on dates and all that crap. You were nice to me and you bought me dinner and even when I insisted you shouldn’t you gave me presents, any reason sufficing. Why did you try so hard? I would have fallen for you anyway._

_Why would you try so hard to get something you already had?_

_Because I was yours from as soon as I saw you. That’s stupid and a cliché but Merlin it is so true. The thought of what kind of hold you have on me, it used to be comforting but now it is scary._

_I need to let you go._

_Yet I won’t._

_It’s like a stupid tug war I play all by myself. You know when we picked dandelions at night and we would blow until all the seeds had come off and make a wish? Back when we were still young and we’d only kissed and you hadn’t set Snape on me yet and we were still generally okay._

_Is that when everything started falling down?_

_Because I remember wishing we could stay like that forever. So maybe that’s the turning point?_

_I have to stop thinking about it like that, I know. I have to stop pretending that I should have been able to tell exactly when you had gone bad, because that is obviously not the case. I wish it was, but I don’t know... I’ve always been one of those fairytale people, so it is natural that I would assume I would feel it if something was off._

_My heart aches now, but I’d be lying if I said it’s because I know you’re in pain. It’s because I am pain, and I’m selfish but I get to be. For once in my life, I get to be selfish. Don’t you dare forget that._

_I love you,_

_So much it hurts,_

_Remus_

Sirius cries and smiles and laughs and cries some more. It is by far the longest letter he has received, and it mixes up all these stirring emotions inside of him. He feels relieve that Remus still loves him, but also anger and a deep-settling sadness. There is also tenderness, and he wishes he could just touch Remus’ face. He wants to feel that skin glide under his fingers, and he wants to apologise. He wants to name every wrong he’s ever done and make Remus forgive them all, he wants to cleanse his soul under the man’s cautious touch. He wants Remus to save him in a way Sirius wishes he could save Remus.

He wants _freedom_ , if only so he could lock himself up in Remus’ arms.

Most of all, really, there is a sort of serenity, even though Remus is in distress. Sirius knows he is strong, and he knows Remus will get through. He will kick and bite and scratch his way through if he needs to, but he will get there. Remus has never given up on anything—this is once more proven by the letters he so faithfully writes to a criminal, miles away.

He thinks of all his sins and goes to bed with them for a long time. He counts them on his fingers and vouches that one day, he will see his Remus again, and he will apologise for every single one.

The next letter arrives mere months later. Sirius is very eager, and the Auror glares at him as he pushes the envelope through the rails, Sirius ignores him and rips open the paper. He has no sense of time and thinks that maybe a year has passed already, and Remus will feel comfortable telling him how their boy did in his first year at Hogwarts.

When he turns the envelope so the letter would slide out easily, a small note falls out first, and he takes it with a look of surprise etched on his face.

_I feel comfortable sending you this, because I know by the end of the year I’ll have a letter for every day we were apart, and that are a lot of letters. You don’t deserve one._

_But I want you to have one._

_Please note that if you do not want this letter, you have to return it to the Auror. If you don’t want it, I want it back._

He frowns and grabs the envelope again, this time fishing out a letter. He doesn’t recognise the handwriting and is about to ask the Auror what the meaning of all this is, since it surely isn’t written by Remus, when he reads the opening sentence, as if by accident. Tears well up in his eyes, because even though the letter isn’t directed to him, he feels so blessed that Remus will let him read it, even keep it, if he wishes.

_Hey dad,_

_Today I had a really weird day, and I just want to share it with you because I’m kind of upset about it. I got into a fight with Harry and Ron, about the Heir of Slytherin. It’s stupid, because at first the idea of the attacks really frightened me, and I know they’re just kind of trying to save the school and all that, but that doesn’t mean I have to go with them on it._

_They think Draco Malfoy is the heir of Slytherin, but that just seems so farfetched to me. I mean, it’s not just because you and Mister Malfoy are friends, but Draco is nice to me, even though he knows me. Does that sound stupid?_

_It’s just... the Malfoys are probably the only people who know who father is without them treating me differently for it. Grandma doesn’t like me, and professor Snape... well, that was self-explanatory._

_But when Draco talks to me, he talks to me. Not to father. I know that sounds stupid, but dad, you have to admit that whatever father did, people don’t really appreciate it, and I can tell. But Draco doesn’t seem to care. It’s stupid, but it’s like he understands._

_There’s of course also the fact that he’s the only Slytherin that’s kind to me, despite the fact that I’m a Gryffindor. And yes, well, he is a bit of a bastard—a lot of a bastard—and he did call Hermione a mudblood and that really pissed me off, but I don’t think he’d actually unleash a monster on the school. I mean, that’s just not... rational. He wouldn’t benefit from it, and he’s not stupid enough to think he would actually get away with it._

_I know it sounds silly, because the only reason I don’t think he’s the heir is because I know he’d find a smarter way to take revenge on all the impure children._

_At times like this, it’s really unfair that you make making the right decision seem so easy. It’s just like that with father as well. You always just know how to handle the situation. You give me slim to no information at all, but still... it feels like I know him._

_Well, eventually I just told Harry I would like to help him, but only to prove him wrong. I think that was the right move, because now it’s become a sort of teasing challenge. He still takes it serious as a seizure though, since he’s really intent on catching the heir. It’s weird. I mean... I get that people think he might be the heir after what happened with the snake but he’s so chill about like, oh yes, I can talk to snakes and set one on my nephew at the zoo. I guess he just wants to prove that he’s not the bad guy. Just that he’s so hero-like. If it wasn’t for him, I would have no clue how to behave. I’m really happy to have them as my friends, they’re really cool, and don’t treat me like a first year at all._

_Sometimes I feel sorry for Hermione though, we really like teasing her a lot. But apparently Harry and Ron saved her live in their first year, from a giant troll, too! Ever since they’ve just sort of been friends, which I think is really amazing. I’m glad I didn’t have to almost die before we got to bond though... that would’ve been awkward._

_The subject I’m really trying to reach, is father. Just writing you makes me feel better dad, but I have to tell you this now, because I won’t be able to when I see you again. I’ll be afraid to, or I’ll just forget. I don’t know who my father is—don’t worry, I won’t try to find out either, I trust your judgement better than I do my own—and I don’t know where he is, but I know he’s alive._

_I know you write him a letter every two years or so. Before you freak out, dad, I’m your son, I’m supposed to know stuff like this, okay? The point is that I really think you should make up. Whatever he’s done wrong, you love him enough to make sure I love him as well, even though he basically abandoned me. I think that means something, and you’ve been fighting for so long, can’t you just make up? I know he probably did something real bad, because grandma and grandpa really dislike him, but who knows, maybe his family thinks the same of you!_

_It’s okay if I never meet him you know, I guess. I mean, I’d really like to, but you give me all the love I could possibly need, so please don’t see this as any kind of rejection. It’s because I want you to be happy dad, and I know making things right with father, will make you happy. I want you to at least give it a try, alright?_

_Unless of course you can’t. I’ll understand, but it’s just that I’ve been thinking it over, and I figured, considering the fact that you write him anyway, perhaps you might want to write him that you want to make up? Unless of course your letters are all about how you despise and hate him..._

_Today I found out that even though you can morally oppose the ideas your friends stand for, that doesn’t mean you can’t get along. I’m sure you know that just as well, since Mister Malfoy is probably one of those people that would vote for a ban on Werewolves._

_Anyway, it was just a random idea. Oh, and before I forget to mention it, I kicked Snape’s butt today! Not literally, of course, but if you were here, you’d be proud. I got a P on my last potions test, even though he swore I’d flunk._

_I’m really excited to see you soon dad, I’ve missed you. I’ve got to go now, I still need to finish my Transfiguration essay._

_All the love in the world,_

_Orion_

Sirius smiles a bit, he thinks, and turns to tell the Auror that he wants to keep it, when another note falls out. It is written by Remus this time, and he scans the parchment. It makes him sad but he wishes it wouldn’t, because he knows Remus means well.

_I wrote back that it’s impossible to make up with someone who can’t reply to your letters, but that you’d surely be proud he got a P in Potions._

_Remus_

He begs the Auror to tell Remus he will keep the letter and that he loves him, but the man stomps off with a sneer of: “I’ll tell him you want to keep it, but that’s all you deserve,” and Sirius thinks that even though it’s not exactly what he wants, it is good enough. It is probably more than he deserves, after putting Remus through such hell, but he cannot help but wish someone would take pity.

If he could just find some paper, than surely someone would be able to reach Remus. He has no idea where the man is, and knows that if he did, he would work to his fullest potential to reach him. He makes it his new goal—no matter how hard he needs to beg, when the next Auror comes, he will get some parchment and he will tell Remus that he loves him. It feels like he has not other choices left, and his gut churns when he realises he will most likely be too late.

Why didn’t he fight when he still had the chance? Where did his bravery go?

He tries not to dwell on it, and instead waits for more news to come. He reads his son’s letter over and over again, trying to imagine what Orion would look like now. He tries to imagine the boy’s voice and pretends that maybe he’ll sound a bit like Remus when the man was younger and when everything goes black, the image is so vivid inside his head, it outshines them all.

The last letter he receives is brought by the minister. The man is making a round and gives him the letter without a word. He takes pity on him and gives him his Prophet as well, to which Sirius thanks him. He hasn’t read the paper in years, and he used to like doing the puzzles on the back. The minister gives him a look—as if measuring his intentions—and for a moment Sirius thinks the man might say something.

Then he just continues his round and leaves without another word. Sirius doesn’t think twice about it, and focuses on his letter. He has gone too long without word, and misses Remus more than he can bear.

_(This is Moving On, because I really need to try)_

_I think perhaps it’s really time for me to stop writing you. The Auror said he had no idea what you’d done with the letter and I’m really not sure how to take that. Perhaps I should just be glad you didn’t throw it at him, or maybe instead you ripped it into a million pieces._

_This is absolutely ridiculous, but there’s no getting over you._

_Every single day of the past year was one where I either wanted to break a vase or break your head. I could not stop worrying for even a second and if you had been here it would have been fine. But you’re not. You’renotyou’renotyou’renot._

_And it’s stupid and pointless but I wish you could be. Because sometimes I really need you, and then other times I don’t really need you, but I still want you and you being here would still be nice. Well, if it wasn’t for the fact that you killed our best friends, that is._

_I’m bitter, can you tell?_

_It’s just that I’m not always okay, but I have to be. That makes me bitter, I guess._

_I’m lying. I feel betrayed and hurt sometimes, that is what makes me bitter._

_At this point, the feeling mostly fades into nothingness. It’s not really important anymore, somehow, because I have Orion to take good care of, and I have to work hard to make ends meet, and then sometimes the hurt just fades. I try to remember good times without wondering whether they were a lie, and these days, I succeed, mostly._

_Sometimes I fail, but I always get back up again, and that has to count for something._

_I miss you. I missed you even more this past year. Actually, I think I always miss you, equally as much, but just that this last year I’ve had more time to think about missing you and how I really shouldn’t. I can’t help it. It’s just... everything._

_I remember what it was like before, and how it could have been if you hadn’t..._

_I try not to think about it, but it’s difficult. I still can’t keep those two realities apart. Sometimes it just blurs into what I would have liked it to be like, but then I realise that it just doesn’t work that way._

_The ridiculous Werewolf law was annulled, which came as a real surprise. It’s nice to make proper money again, to work for an honest pay, but I don’t suppose you really care. It’s funny, actually, that now that I’m finally getting paid properly at the ministry, Albus asked me for a favour._

_He wants me to go to Hogwarts next year, and teach Defence against the Dark arts._

_It feels like he took you from me._

_I still said yes._

_Is that selfish?_

_I think I’ll actually enjoy teaching. I don’t know why, but it seems like something that would fit me. I’d never imagined myself to ever teach—definitely not at a school where the Headmaster is actually aware of what I am—but I suppose it’s a nice change from doing papers all day and getting nothing in return. Now I get to do papers all day and educate people. I suppose that’s what we call progress._

_He thinks it will be great. He says that this way I can keep an eye on him and meet his friends, and that now we can have lunch together and I can show him secret spots._

_He’s making himself sick with excitement but it’s adorable in that way where it hurts just a little. He already decided that, no matter what, he is never cutting his hair, ever again, because all the girls think he’s sexy and older boys wink at him._

_I’m not sure how I feel about that last part, but I can’t very well blame them, can I? I fell for it. There is no plausible reason why they wouldn’t fall for it either._

_When we began packing our trunks for next year, he stuffed your pillow into mine. It takes up almost a complete quarter of my space and I won’t be able to bring half the books I wanted to, but for some really stupid reason he was proud and I was smiling._

_Have I always been this fucking giddy?_

_I think that maybe, if I try hard enough, and I try long enough, maybe there will only be this single segment of my heart left that misses you, and then maybe in the years passing that too, will waver, and perhaps then there will only be the tinniest corner of me that needs you, and it will be okay._

_At least I know I’ve always been this needy._

_I hope that one day I will wake up and instead of thinking: “he’s not here,” I will think: “he’s there,” and if I can only get so far, I might have made it. Because that is admitting that no matter how hard I try not to think about it, you did me wrong. You did us wrong._

_You did James wrong._

_And how can I forgive you for that?_

_I don’t want to say it and perhaps writing is even worse, but you killed our best friend._

_Do you remember when you said: “love, our baby will be the most beautiful baby by far,” and then James stuck out his tongue and you joked that it didn’t matter, because we’d share with him._

_You made me feel like we were family. You made it sound so okay._

_When we babysat for Harry you were always on your best behaviour, you went into Padfoot mode and gave him the time of his life._

_You almost got him killed, too. How does that make you feel?_

_You were going to share a life with that boy Sirius. A whole life. We were going to walk him to school, the three of us, as soon as he was old enough. On Sundays James brought him for brunch and you baby proofed the house, “just to be sure”._

_How did that fit into your nicely constructed trick? How did you manage to squeeze that little acting work in? Did it really come so naturally on you?_

_Maybe one day when I’m older I’ll be able to remember you and not feel bad about it. Right now, it’s just an impossible feat, because even when Orion isn’t here, there is always a reminder._

_When I do the dishes, I think of you and your fervent distaste of soap. It’s not that you were lazy, not at all, you’d set the table and clean, but never even once, did you come near me when I was doing dishes._

_And then later when I’m watching television I’ll think of you and cuddling and that is never good._

_Stupid things too, like baths and sandwiches. Because we had a life together, and how can I just let that go?_

_These eleven years can’t erase the eleven we had before._

_I have to go now, because we’re supposed to be visiting my parents._

_Have I mentioned that I miss you?_

_I wish you were here. I wish I could touch you._

_But I guess it’s all in vain._

_Love,_

_Remus_

In the paper there is a picture of a family and Peter Pettigrew. He reads that the boy holding Peter is at Hogwarts but so will Remus be and that cannot be good, and just like that, Sirius’ decision is made.

This time, he will do the _right_ thing.


	2. Motivation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is surprisingly easy to escape from inside when you’ve found motive to get outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to wait until I finished the story completely before I updated, but I've been rewriting a part of it over and over and I just can't get it the way I want it to be and out of frustration I've decided that I can just upload and go with the flow and hope that I will manage to be satisfied with that part when the time for updating comes!

* * *

 

 

It is surprisingly easy to escape from inside when you’ve found motive to get outside.

To him, it becomes a strange sort of mantra. He has a sense of responsibility, and he does not care what anyone will say—if you hurt his Moony, he hurts you. He understands very well that this implies he should hurt himself too, because Remus is broken and he’s the one that pushed him over, but he vows he will fix him.

Sirius thinks that maybe he should have done this much sooner, but he wouldn’t have known what to do once he got out. He had never had a clue of how to prove to Remus that he loves him, and that he did not play him.

He will find Peter Pettigrew and he will bring him to Remus—no matter what happens after that, at least Remus will know that Sirius loves him. He will understand that Sirius did not play him.

It is his only hope.

Whenever it gets rough and he gets tired of running, whenever he feels like this journey has no end, when he gets scared and thinks that he will never reach Hogwarts, he holds on to the thought of seeing Remus again—of inhaling his sweet scent and maybe holding his hand. It’s what fuels him during the day and keeps him warm and burning at night and freedom, will never be as good as it is being back in Remus’ arms.

He will make it there. He cannot fail his love again.

The first time he gets into the castle, he decides he needs to see Remus before finding Peter.

It turns out to be a terrible idea and he is chased right back out of the castle by Filch’s blasted cat. He meets another—much nicer, though considerably uglier—cat, and the next time he ventures inside the castle he makes sure the coast is clear. He trots over to the Defence against the Dark arts classroom, hoping to misguide anyone that might spot him, but keeps as much to the shadows as he can. He meets a blonde girl with a nice quirkiness to her manners, and is petted for what seems like hours.

He stays, but only because he has missed human contact so much it _hurts_. He is frightened, but only a little, and can tell that she has no bad intentions.

The door to the classroom is open, and he goes up the stairs with a practiced ease when he can’t spot Remus in the room. The door that leads to what Sirius can only assume is now Remus Lupin’s office is ajar, and he pushes it open with his head, careful not to let it creak too much. The office is tidy and well-kept, but his desk is littered with papers and inkpots and quills. On the far side of the office there is another door, and even though Sirius has never been to this particular office—DADA was the only class he actually paid attention in, which meant the professors never needed to see him after class—he was pretty sure he would find an adjacent bedroom behind it.

The excitement of seeing Remus again, after all those years, almost destroys him. He can feel his blood running through his makeshift body and his breath is coming off in pants, like he’s run a mile. His tongue hangs out and if he were in his human form, he was sure he would have needed to lick his lips, his mouth suddenly dry.

He pushes the door open with his snout cautiously, just enough so he can look inside. He does not plan on entering the room, knowing fully well that that would just be testing his luck, and instead settles on lying down on the hard floor, cushioning his head on his paws with a little whine as he marvels at the sight before him.

Remus is asleep in his bed, turned onto his side to face the door. A book lies opened on the carpet, the pages rumpled, and Sirius can imagine that his love had been reading when he fell asleep. His chest is bare, the air in the room too stifling, and it is _beautiful_ to see the pale skin under the light of the stars outside, his nipples a soft pink and his bellybutton dipping into his abdomen cutely. There is a long scar below his navel that has nothing to do with a full moon, and it makes Sirius’ heart skip a beat because he knows what that means. A patch of coarse brown hair dots the immaculate skin right above his pyjama trouser, disappearing under the fabric but offering an alluring invitation, _touch me_ , they beg, and Sirius feels hard-pressed to obey the command.

Instead, he settles for watching the rise and fall of the scarred chest, his face relaxed in its slumber. His lashes throw shadows on his cheeks, running up into his nose with the freckle right on the tip of it, going down to his full lips, parted delicately.

It almost feels like no time at all has passed, but Sirius can note the changes, and they set him apart. There are scars on soft skin where there weren’t any before, and Remus has grown. The most evident change, the one that points out, _right in his face,_ that Remus is older now, is his hair. It’s longer, and has streaks of unrelenting grey.

That’s like a slap right in his face, reminding him of all the years they were apart, but the sight caused his brain to short-circuit and he adjusts to default a whine escaping him. He pushes any pain aside and lies there watching, because he has gone without Remus for so long, he has some making up to do.

He stays by the man’s bedside the entire night, enjoying every second of it as the dark behind the window shifts to a lighter colour, becomes pink with the upcoming sun and suddenly birds are chirping and Remus shifts.

The blankets fall off him in the process, revealing more of his body to Sirius, but it is too dangerous to stay much longer. He takes in the sight one last time, before he yawns and lets out a soft growl. He raises his body off the floor and is overcome with the urge to go out and touch the beauty before him.

Every sense he has left in him tells him not to, but he cannot ignore this yearning, this pure _need_ , because for all he knows he will never manage to get to Peter and then he might never get a chance like this one again.

He trots over to Remus’ bedside, and then, with a sort of terrifying anxiety, tentatively gives the man a lick. His tongue drags over Remus’ plump lips and just as the texture and feel and _scentandtasteandoh_ fills his senses the man grunts and Sirius is shaken from his reverie.

He scatters from the room as quick as his four legs can take him, and he does not know it, but Remus watches him go with a bemused look, sure it is just the remnant of his dream playing tricks on him. When he awakes properly he notes the wetness on his face and is quite startled, but it is too late and Sirius is long-gone already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY YOU GUYS HAD TO WAIT SO LONG PLEASE LEAVE A COMMENT THANK YOU IM NOT USING CAPS JUST PRESSING SHIFT


	3. Mirrors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The door opens with a soft creak, and Sirius comes out of hiding, moving so he can look inside the room.
> 
> A whispered: “dad?” meets his ears and they perk up.
> 
> In the light of the room—Remus behind his desk working—the figure can finally be identified and Sirius thinks he might die because it’s like looking in a mirror.

Sirius does not sleep well, even though he has been up for over twenty-four hours. The image of Remus is so fresh in his mind, and it hurts to know that the man is right there but unreachable.

He fills his own head with doubt and questions no one can answer and he knows this self-destructive pattern, because Merlin, he’s done it all before, but he cannot stop, can just _pretend_ this madness does not affect him and _hopepraydream_ of better days wherein something will make sense and his reason to simply _be_ will have been revealed.

He tries to get the cat to bring him Peter in hopes of it working faster than if Sirius was to trail after him himself, but the plan fails, multiple times. He can’t blame the cat, but the failure does not brighten his mood and every day the urge to go into the castle and find Remus again becomes stronger.

The knowledge that his son is there, as well, makes the urge even harder to resist. Whenever there are classes outside the castle, Sirius tries to watch them from afar, but he has had no luck yet. On one particularly ghastly night, he decides to test his luck once more.

If not now, when?

The trip into the castle is completely uneventful, as he stays to the shadows as he did the first time, amusing himself when he passes a source of light and casts the shadow of a dog on the stone floors. He reaches Remus’ office in record time, the need to see him again unbearable now that he knows that the man is ridiculously close.

His heart stops when a figure approaches the room from the other side and he hides quickly behind a bench. He’s ready to pounce—the figure is not too tall, and he remembers Peter to be small—until the person comes closer and he realises that their frame is too slender to be Peter’s.

The door opens with a soft creak, and Sirius comes out of hiding, moving so he can look inside the room.

A whispered: “dad?” meets his ears and they perk up.

In the light of the room—Remus behind his desk working—the figure can finally be identified and Sirius thinks he might _die_ because it’s like looking in a mirror.

His son is the _exact_ replica of him when he was at Hogwarts, all the way down to how he wears his hair at night—up in a ponytail—and his ridiculously proud choice of boxers, a chibi lion at the seam of the red fabric.

He wears a white tank top above his boxers—just like Sirius used to—with a sleep-shirt above it, half-undone, because even though it is cold outside, the air inside the castle is rather hot. He has green socks on his feet, which Sirius identifies as Remus’, and is carrying a rolled-up parchment.

He is beautiful.

“Hey,” Remus says kindly, a soft smile on his face as he looks up at their _beautifulperfectgorgeous_ son, “if you want you can go up already, but I need to finish grading these before I join you.”

With a bit of a start, Sirius realises this has happened before, and that, even though Orion is fourteen now, they still sleep together frequently.

The boy moves to sit on one of the student’s desk, crossing his legs— _just like Sirius did—_ and pushing a lock of pitch black hair from his face. Remus has focussed on his papers again, dipping his quill in red ink to grade one of the tests.

“Daddy,” Orion sounds strangely stern, even if the pet-name itself is petulant, “can we talk a little first?”

“Of course,” Remus nods, laying down his quill at the sound of their son’s voice. “What would you like to talk about?”

“About father,” this surely draws Remus’ attention, and his brows rumple into a frown. He says nothing, which Orion takes as a sign to continue quickly: “when I told you I wouldn’t go searching for his identity, I meant it Remi,” and that too, sounds like Sirius, making the man want to howl or grunt or wheeze or just _pounce_ , but he can’t. “I trust you when you say it’s irrelevant. But... Harry and the others went to Hogsmeade this weekend and he says... he said...”

“What is it?” Remus is concerned, and Sirius is too—he wonders if perhaps James’ son has been cruel, but doubts it, though this only worries him more.

Orion unrolls his parchment and shows Remus one of the ‘wanted’ posters that hang all around Hogsmeade. And Sirius understands, and he knows Remus does too, though the man must feign ignorance, for his own good.

“They say I look like him dad,” the boy whispers, lowering his eyes in embarrassment.

“That’s ridiculous,” Remus huffs, standing abruptly, “just because he has grey eyes and black hair does not make Sirius Black your father!”

“Harry has pictures of his parents’ wedding dad,” Orion continues fiercely, his voice hitching halfway, “Sirius Black is on them and Harry says I look like him! You were friends in school weren’t you? He got a picture off Hagrid from his dad in first year and Black is on it too!”

The boy sniffles sharply and to Sirius’ shock, he is crying. He wants to go in there and hold him until the pain goes away but that’s impossible.

Remus does it for him, and wraps their son in his arms.

“I look like him,” Orion whimpers, burying his face in his father’s shirt.

“I know,” Remus sighs, kissing the top of his head softly, “I know sweetheart.”

“My dad is the guy that killed Harry’s dad?” he whimpers again and Sirius feels an odd sort of feeling in his heart—as if it’s breaking into a million pieces, but he knows that is impossible.

It hurts. Too much.

“Don’t say that,” Remus scolds, though there is no malice, “I don’t...”

“You don’t believe he did it?” Orion asks softly, but insistent.

He looks up at his father with stern grey eyes, and Sirius knows Remus is reminded of him. It is impossible for the brunette to lie, and it makes him so _beautiful._

“I can’t,” he admits, “and neither should you. Your father was good to me love, don’t ever forget that. No matter what Harry says. He was good to us.”

“Did he know me?” Orion asks curiously, whipping at his tears with his nimble fingers. Remus smiles and kisses his forehead delicately, pressing the smaller body closer in his own. “Would he have loved me?”

“Of course,” Remus promises, looking their son straight in the eye as he continues: “I do not know where he is or what he’s doing, but I know that if he did not love you, you would not be here right now.”

“And you?” the boy presses further, blinking tiredly, “Do you still love me? Despite the fact that I pried in your business?”

“I will never not love you,” Remus bends through his knees to come at eyelevel with his son, stroking through his bangs and then caressing his cheek, “you are the most beautiful gift I could have ever received. I love you, so much.”

“I love you too daddy,” for a moment, Orion is not fourteen, but a mere four-year-old and he wraps his arms tightly around Remus’ neck, seeking comfort in his father’s embrace.

Remus welcomes him willingly, taking him in and keeping him safe. For that split second, Sirius can imagine their happiness and feel their warmth, and though he is not part of them, he finds comfort knowing that they want him to be.

Sirius watches Remus shut off the light and lead their son upstairs. When he knows all is safe, he goes to watch them sleep, the younger buried in his father’s chest. They make a beautiful picture and Sirius stays to keep them safe.

When he leaves the next day, Orion sees him go, and wakes up his dad with an urgent whisper of: “Remi! I saw a big black dog! It was so cute!”

And Remus has no idea how to handle that.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EVERYONES LIFE IS SAD. But mostly mine because I'm really struggling with the end of this story D: (don't worry the end isn't for another two or three chapters!)


End file.
